


Post tenebras, spero lucem

by AceQueenKing



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Courtship, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gift Giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Persephone didn't understand anything about the Underworld; not the strange light that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, not the strange ruler who promised love but had kidnapped her without a single word, and certainly not the strange courtship gift he'd given her, the sundial that told no time.





	Post tenebras, spero lucem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



Persephone watched the sundial in the Underworld gloom, as confused now as she had been when Hades had brought her here.

Persephone didn't understand anything about the Underworld; not the strange light that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, not the strange ruler who promised love but had kidnapped her without a single word, and certainly not the strange courtship gift he'd given her, the sundial that told no time. In fact, it wasn’t as if there was even a sun down here that could reflect shadows. In the two weeks in which she had in the Underworld, she had never quite ascertained where the meager light of the underworld actually filtered in _from_.

She would have to ask _him_ when he – when he returned.

He’d come every day without fail, twice a day. She’d always assumed he’d have servants and perhaps he did but—he saw to her personally. Every morning he came with breakfast; every evening with supper. She ate nothing, but he ate and watched her sometimes, talked to her. She had answered his questions, but hadn’t dared to ask her own.

She was a bit afraid to. She knew nothing of him before he’d snatched her up: he was a distant family member, even more so than her long-absent father.  He talked softly, like her mother, but his voice was nothing the same: gravely deep and foreboding as much as momma’s was calming and sweet. Talking to him felt like a betrayal; like she was giving up her momma for good.

And she knew, deep down, momma wouldn’t approve of him. Granted, momma hadn't approved of any man who had tried to sweet talk Persephone – Ares still no doubt bore the bruises from her sandals! – but Hades hadn’t even asked momma. Just her father who…she couldn’t even remember what he looked like, it had been so long since she had seen him. Uncle Hades hadn’t been cruel to her beyond kidnapping her but…he _had_ taken her to this strange shadow world.

It was hard, refusing everything, or at least everything she could. She did make use of his bed, of course, and the bath he’d provided, and the clothes, but —well, what choice did she have? She tried to be polite to him, because he wasn’t cruel and he seemed quite lonely, judging by how starved he looked for even the slightest glance she turned his way. Was he really the only thing alive down here? She couldn’t imagine living like that. She felt a bit guilty for spurning him if that was the case—she could understand him grabbing her from the fields, almost, if he was so desperately lonely. Almost.

But that was dangerous. She didn’t know him that well, and what she knew was this: despite all his gentleness, despite his gifts and despite his damn wealth and riches, he had taken her without a single word to her. Men were dangerous, momma had always said, and none more so than ones bearing gifts. She had to be hard-hearted; she _had_ to be if she ever was going to see her momma again.

But it was quite difficult to be so when he smiled, as he had when he’d presented her the sundial.  It was a beautiful thing, the most intricate sundial she’d ever seen:  beautiful brass fashioned into a delicate circle, a pattern of flowers encircling the edges. _For you_ , he’d said, _so you can keep track of time_. _I know the gloom-light is…discombobulating._ He had said it so charmingly, boyishly beaming, and he’d chosen the pattern well, flower after flower peaking through the bronze work; she traced one violet as she stared at the gnomon — which looked perfectly functional but cast no shadows. She sighed. She did not understand this. She did not understand this gift, or this land or this man, or anything else that had transpired.

She stared at the plate, willing any shadow to exist. It was such a nonsensical gift. One, who gave a sundial as a gift to a woman locked in a room alone? Two, who gave a sundial in a realm that didn’t reflect any sun? And three, who gave a non-functioning sun-dial as a courting gift? He’d seemed so proud of it. Was it all an act to get her to relax? Or was it some sort of cruel trick to remind her that she was here entirely at his mercy? She didn’t know the man and thus,his motives were difficult to guess.

He’d be coming soon, she thought. It had been many hours since she’d last seen him – she wondered what he did all day. Did he have other women he saw too? She frowned. She didn’t like the thought of that, but then again, his entire domain was full of the dead — and how much work could that be? His brothers, she knew, had made no secret of the many, many women they had. How could he be different?

She wished she could go outside. She kicked at the sundial and winced as she made contact and her foot welled up with pain. She brushed away the embarrassing tears as she sat back on her bed, cradling her foot. This was such a strange place, and she was at the mercy of an even stranger man. She just — she wanted to go home. She hadn’t always been happy with her mother, sure, but what child was always happy under their parent's thumb? She wished she understood why her father had told her uncle she was his wife now.

She heard the door open and winced, angrily jabbing at her tears. He was here, and he’d naturally come at the very height of her weakness.

“I brought you some dinner,” he said, and she heard him put down the tray in front of her. Her bed shifted as he sat at the tail end of it, a respectful distance away. She took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him.

“I…” he started and said nothing after it, and the statement hung in the air. She glanced at him from the side of her eye and saw an unbearable sadness on his face and how dare _he_ , she thought. This wasn’t hard on him! _He_ wasn’t the one locked up in a room far from everything he’d ever known. “Please…won’t you eat something, my dear?” He asked, a nervous smile flickering on his face as he pushed the tray slightly towards her.

 _My dear_. She glared at him, nostrils flaring. _My_ _dear_?! As if he knew anything of her, as if he could hold any claim on her. Bastard! She did not break eye contact with him as she grabbed the tray he'd brought. She caught his expression shift to a joyous smile on his face as she brought it into her lap, but that hope, much to her relish, dimmed as she tipped the tray downward, the food clattering to the floor.

Both of them stared at it for a moment; she felt, instantly, a hot flash of regret. Two wrongs did not make a right, and there was every chance he'd punish her now for being such a disobedient captive. She should apologize, should say she was sorry, but…she wasn’t ...not really.

 “I know…” He began to say; he did not sound angry so much as strained. She glanced toward him, watching him with scorn she was trying but unable to fully hide. “I struggled with accepting this realm myself. In time you will grow to love it, as I did.”

“I am a nature goddess,” she hissed, throwing every ounce of inherited regal standing in her tone. She was Zeus’ daughter, and she would not let him forget it. “I could never love such a _dead_ place.”

He winced and held out his hand. She refused to take it. A shadow formed upon it and she startled, skirting back on her bed. Did he mean to take her by using his powers, by killing her with his own hands to enforce her being little more than his property? She curled into a tight ball.

He flicked his fingers and a flower fell into his hands; he tossed it toward her gently, a mild rebuke in his eyes. She pulled it up, studied it carefully. A narcissus, much like the one she’d pulled up—well, when he had grabbed her. Nothing wrong with it, really, though she had never seen one in black before.

“You…” She stared at it.  “You made this?”

“You are not the only nature God stuck underground.” His words were stiff and he wasn’t looking at her anymore. “I did not bring you here to give you grief. Whatever you think of me, know that.”

She said nothing. She unwound slightly, staring out into a room lit by nothing but gloom. She watched him; though his back was to her, she could see the tension in his arms, the way he kept flexing and unflexing them as if he couldn’t decide whether to bolt for the door or turn around and shake her. He finally turned and faced her, laughing, but it sounded more ghoulish than sweet.

 “Believe me, I thought _this_ …I thought this would be easier. _So_ much easier.” His voice echoed with regret; for a moment, she thought she saw his eyes water, and she looked away.

She refused to melt at the regret in his voice, though it tugged at her in a way she found troubling. He was so lonely. But she had known what it was to be companionless too, and even if he had been stuck down here all by himself, it didn’t excuse him grabbing her.

Wordlessly, he slowly turned back in her direction, though he did not meet her eyes. He knelt down on his knees and slowly picked up the food she had thrown down. He said nothing of her behavior and she didn’t either, watching as he picked up the ambrosia he’d brought, along with bits of bread and cheese. The pomegranate he’d brought her was near her foot, and in a moment of unwise pity, she reached out and picked it up. Her hands brushed his as she handed it to him and they both froze. His eyes widened in clear shock and she withdrew her hands too quickly, unnerved by the sudden somersault her stomach did at the look in his eyes.

“Why did you give me the sundial?” she blurted out, and his eyebrows rose.

“What?”  He said. He glanced toward it as if he had forgotten what it looked like. “It’s…It was a gift.”

“What kind of a gift is a sundial that doesn’t tell time?” She hissed; she gestured toward the useless thing and tried to harden her heart against his stupid big eyes. “Do you give that to all your favorite captive girls?!” She knew her voice was shrill but she couldn’t stop now that the questions that she had long mulled escaped her throat. “How many of us do you have down here anyway?”

He was silent for a long moment and she blushed furiously. She'd broken her rule about how to handle her captivity and all she'd gotten from it was the look on his perplexed face.

“I think…I think we are both confused.” he reached out a hand toward her, and she caught herself reaching halfway for him before she realized it and hastily dropped her hand back down onto the bed. 

To her surprise he stood, putting the little tray on her nightstand and, in one quick movement, sitting next to her on her bed. There was no respectable distance between them this time; there was no space between them now. He sighed. “First thing first: there are no other women. I have never kept a concubine. If your father told you I did, such I fear he was only trying to make you jealous.”  

“My father has said nothing to me. I haven’t seen my father since I was five years old.” He winced at that; his hand reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. She sat up a little taller in response; why had the Titans made him so tall? It was hard for her to see into his eyes, but the look there seemed genuine, calm blue eyes staring deep into her own. “But aside from my father’s negligence, why did you take me then? If you're not in the habit of having women in your bed…”

“I do not want you as a concubine, Persephone. I want you as _my_ _wife_.” He looked at her with softness in his eyes and she didn’t look away this time, trying to figure out what _my_ _wife_ meant. “I want to share my power with you, my realm…and my life. When I asked for a daughter to marry, your father made you sound far more amenable to this idea than you appear to be. I…did not anticipate this part of our coupling being such a struggle.” He rubbed little circles in her back, and she was not sure if he was doing that consciously or not.

She chuckled and stared out; his hand at her back, she grudgingly admitted, did not feel horrible. What did feel awful was the sudden realization as to why her father had offered her as little more than a sacrifice.

“You were played then, uncle. My father did not give me to you because he thought I was well suited to you, he gave me to you because I am the least of his daughters in his estimate. He may hold you in confidence as his brother, but – I fear our compatibility would have been little more than an afterthought to him...” She could see it all too clearly: Her father loved Athena, his favorite; Artemis, Hebe, and Eileithyia were all occasionally her father’s guests of honor in family dinners as well. Persephone and her mother? She couldn’t remember the last time they'd been on Olympus, and only now did she realize just how odd this perhaps was. Certainly, she had never been invited to drink of her father’s cup as all her sisters had boasted of doing.

“I am sorry you think your father saw you only as a burden to be cast away. I cannot guess at his motives, truthfully; of my siblings, I know your father least. But no matter the origin, your position here will be one of honor, Persephone. I will not be so bad a man for you, you know; a third of the entire universe is no poor prize.” He sighed and stared at the sundial. “As far as the sundial, as foolish as it appears to have been, I was hoping to impress you with my metalworking and thought something familiar to the above-world might have eased your heart. My subjects advise me such things are often found in gardens and I knew you enjoyed flowers. I apologize that it is….deficient.”

“It is very beautiful, but…it doesn’t work. There’s no sun here to make a shadow.” She looked at him as his eyes widened in realization.

“…ah.” He groaned. “I…did not realize that was how they worked.”

“How can you not know?” She scoffed. “It’s called a _sun_ dial.” The entire conversation had made her a bit uncomfortable, and she was not quite sure how to feel about it. He seemed to have good intentions, and she could not shake the thought he was perhaps genuine in his affection for her. But still…he had taken her, without so much as a hello, and the theft of her autonomy rankled.

“I did not spend much time in the world above. Your mother had no doubt told you of our upbringing—“

“She never said anything about _you_.” Or her childhood, truthfully; Persephone knew her mother had been in a war, but her mother had always gone silent when the conversation was brought up, and they had coincidently found other places to be whenever the topic was brought up.  Her own father was one of the subjects her mother simply did not speak on, any more than she did on Persephone’s father’s existence.

“I am ill-served by my siblings it seems.” He sighed and ran a hand through his long curls. “Your mother and I were both submerged into darkness by our father when we were infants. It was a …difficult time. When your father rescued us, we were thrown into the sunshine for the first time in our lives. We had lived _centuries_ in darkness, with only one another for terrified comfort.”

“I felt much the same when I came here,” She said in a whisper that scratched against her throat; that hurt, the knowledge that he, too, had been held captive, and had still done the same to her. "Except that you have given me no siblings to hold to in comfort."

"I am here," he said, and his voice all but crackled. "I cannot—I did not think of it in such a way. Forgive me. I did not think you so...disagreeable to me.  I should not like to think myself so horrid a tyrant as my father, but we all bear the marks of that war. This whole story is all my long way of saying… I was only in the mortal realm for the war and the world… The world was different, then. The Titans all but destroyed any fields to cut off our food supplies, so the world was mostly ash and fire. Hours after we banished the last of them down to Tartarus, I was here. I never saw the world you grew up in, beyond glimpses in the tales of men I judged. I never had time to look at things like sundials and gardens. I know  _only glimpses_ of the world and its customs above. A foolish gift, it was, and feebly made to boot; no wonder you think so poorly of its useless creator. I’ll remove it.” He stood right away, rolling up his sleeves, seemingly happy to have something— _anything_ —to do.

“Don't!” She said, surprised at her own vehemence. He sat down next to her, staring at his hands. He had tears dotting the corners of his eyes, and her heart was finally broken by pity; she knew he was much older than her, but he looked young like this, young and scared and as lost as she was. Perhaps he did not understand he had been rude. Perhaps she had only to spell it out for him, and he would understand how he had wounded her. He had apologized a bit, after all. She reached out one hand and carefully put it on top of his knee.

“It is very pretty smithing, your work,” she admitted. “But it is not the _gift_ that wounds me. I don’t know anything of you, uncle. If you had presented me such a pretty thing for my own garden upstairs, maybe it…maybe my feelings for you would be different.”

He sighed and put one heavy hand over her hand; for a moment, neither of them said anything. He looked at her eyes, and she studied his carefully; his face was stern, but it was not angry. He nodded,  mouth moving a bit as he seemed to mull something to himself. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly. “I…apologize then. It is not how I know courtships have been done. I should have done more research on what you would prefer. But I cannot take back the time spent. Or measure it, evidently.” He chuckled a bit, but it was more mocking than sweet. 

“What customs do you know?” Perhaps she could help him find a better path. She tried to remember marriages among the gods but she had only been a baby when Aphrodite had been married off, and none of her generation had been taken to spouse just yet.

“Our kin have few and our histories are mostly ugly. My father wedded my mother by forcibly copulating with her, as did my grandfather with my grandmother. Zeus tricked Hera into lying with him by tricking her with the guise of a bird. Poseidon and Amphrite…I do not know the sea god’s customs but I doubt it was much different.”

She scrunched up her face, wondering with sinking feelings if he was telling her this as a way of announcing what he planned to do to her. Would he take her against her will? Would it hurt? She exhaled a shaky breath, trying to think of how to respond. He frowned and shook his head as if he could read her thoughts and found them foul.

“Stop looking at me like that.  I won’t take you.  Unwillingly, at least. I am not my brothers or my father.”  Her stomach twisted, heavy at the thought of him over her. He was much bigger than her, she thought; how could they even….And what would momma say if she came home, hale and hearty, but not a virgin anymore? Why was she even thinking of this? He had said he wouldn’t force her and she certainly didn’t want him…but then why did she feel so dreadfully warm at the thought of his body on hers? Her skin felt warm, sweaty, and she blushed, distracted. 

“What about Hephaestus and Aphrodite?” she blurted out; she could remember Aphrodite’s pretty gown if not much else. She wanted to think of something else, anything else; the thought of him on top of her was making her cheeks hot in a way she was not quite comfortable with just yet.

“Politics. Neither of them enjoys the other's company. That's not what I want for us.” His fingers drummed against hers and she realized that she had been holding his hand the entire time. Oh lord father above, had he felt her hands slicked with sweat at the thought of him? Her face turned even redder at the thought. What would he think if he knew that she…she was thinking of _that_.

“The only other tradition I know is the mortal one. The humans arrange marriages between the groom and the bride’s father,” he hummed. “The girl… is generally happy if she goes to a husband who can provide for her. Given how your mother has kept you in the mortal realm for all your days, it never occurred to me in all honesty that you would not feel the same. I can, and will, provide for you, if you accept me as your bridegroom.”

“I’m not a mortal,” she said; she experimentally ran her fingers over the top of his. His fingers were callused and rough; they felt far different from her mother's. But they no longer felt so strange, and she understood, now, why he had brought her here in such an abrupt fashion.  “And I do not need your money or your care.”

“Indeed not.  But…I will admit, my dear, I am desperately trying to follow a blueprint, for I have _no idea_ what I'm doing. I’ve clearly made a right mess of it. Can we not…start over, you and I?”  

She looked up at him warily; his eyes burned with desperate hope, and she closed her eyes, thinking. She did not entirely think she could forgive him just yet, but knowing why he had acted as he did made him…a bit more understandable. She leaned into him and his hand, hesitantly, wrapped around her back.

“Maybe.” She leaned into his shoulder and huffed. “You are not so bad. But I do not enjoy being locked in a room all day long. I need – I need to see the world.”

 “If I return you to your mother,” he murmured, his hand gently thumbing her cheek. “I’ll never see you again. I know it is a selfish request but please do not ask me for that just yet.”

She pressed a hand to his shoulder, turning so that she could see his face closer. He obviously took this as a good sign, pulling her closer to him, half-way up his lap. She tried to smile at him with a confidence she did not quite feel.” I cannot come to love your land without seeing it, uncle. You can’t keep me in this room alone all my days.”

He put his hands across both her cheeks and she realized, dimly, that something had shifted; her stomach did a soft summersault as his nose brushed against hers softly, his face so close. “I can do that, but you'll have to stay near me for a little while. At least until I have pointed out any dangers, so that you do not wind up falling headlong into Tartarus,” he murmured. “Would that be sufficient to convince you to give me a chance, dear one?”

“…We can try,” she murmured; his head tilted forward and she had only the thought that he was going to kiss her before he did. She closed her eyes with a soft whimper; it was clumsy, their heads slightly knocking together, but it sent an electric shock down her spine all the time. His lips were gentle and surprisingly soft. He shifted, pulling back, but those eyes stayed on her; when she opened them, he was already studying her, and she did not miss the desperate desire in those eyes. She was beginning to think he could love her enough for both of them, at least at first. 

 “Would you like to go for a walk with me?” He asked, his voice shaking a bit. She bit her lip; momma wouldn’t approve, maybe, but then, what daughter could make her mother happy all the time? She would keep an open mind, at least. There was no harm in that, right?

She ran her fingers over the sundial as she stood, linking her arm with his.  “Lead the way…Hades,” she murmured, trying out his name in her mouth; it was not so bad. His eyes grew wide as he referred to her by his name; she was pretty sure he had never smiled so widely in his life before given by the awkwardness of his expression, but somehow it was…charming.

“I like it when you call me by my name,” he admitted, as if it wasn't obvious; she squeezed his hand as he took her from an opulent room into a wide hallway, lit with the same dim light. He kept his pace slow enough that she could easily keep up, and she leaned a little bit into him, shivering at the dip of temperature.

He smiled and pulled his himation off his shoulders, winding it around her instead.  “Would you tell me about your life up there?” He murmured, rubbing her shoulders. He was a very gentle man, she thought, and perhaps—perhaps that could be enough, for now. 

“O-okay,” she said, and wondered, if perhaps, they could make some light in this dark land after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The title translates roughly to "After darkness, I hope for light". Taken from [The Book of Sun-dials by Mrs. Alfred Gatty](http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/gatty/sundials/sundials.html).


End file.
